


Truce

by thehoyden



Category: The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-17
Updated: 2008-12-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 04:35:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1631885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehoyden/pseuds/thehoyden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All I had wanted after that meeting was to go home, and now suddenly a Mickey Mouse float, a quarter million people, and the Chicago River were standing between me and my bus stop.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Truce

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Lynnmonster for the beta. Written for everysecondtues.

 

 

The only good part about the two hours I just wasted talking to a very concerned chairman of the board was that at least I would get paid, and then maybe I could get Molly something nice for Christmas, pick up a little something for Thomas, and find a sickeningly cute squeaky toy for Mouse. Frankly, I didn't think that Tibetan temple dogs really needed toys, but Molly gave him something that looks like a Muppet and he'd been hauling it around for weeks and I was starting to feel like a bad parent.

Unfortunately, while I was pretty good about noticing details for cases, I was apparently incapable of noticing that the police were getting ready to block off Michigan Avenue when I went into my meeting. Wait, that's not strictly true -- I even saw them standing around with barricades at the side of the road, but the horde of holiday shoppers pounding the pavement up and down the Magnificent Mile took up most of my attention.

So when I stepped out of the Tribune building into the middle of the winter lights festival, the first thing that came out of my mouth was, "Oh shit." Because stretching as far as I could see -- and I'm pretty damn tall, at least on eye level with all the munchkins on their parents' shoulders -- were people, people, more people, beat cops, and a dysfunctional parade that didn't seem to actually be parading but _did_ have a giant floating candy cane.

"You said a bad word," said the boy next to me on his dad's shoulders. He looked like a little blue marshmallow, swaddled in a puffy parka and a stocking cap with ear flaps.

I winced. "Yeah, sorry about that," I said, mostly to the dad who was glaring at me.

All I had wanted after that meeting was to go home, and now suddenly a Mickey Mouse float, a quarter million people, and the Chicago River were standing between me and my bus stop.

"Okay," I said to myself. If I couldn't go through the parade, maybe I could just go around it. I shuffled through yet more people who were waiting nearby where a stage was set up and threaded my way through the plaza and down to the next bridge over the river at Columbus. There were still a lot of people all gathered near the railings along the river, but it looked like I could still get through to the bridge. There were fewer kids around, and more adults who looked like couples. Fortunately, they were leaving enough of the sidewalk clear that I could get by.

I found myself stopping in the middle of the bridge to look down the river at the heart of downtown -- Chicago can certainly be a dirty, grimy place, but she looked pretty special tonight, the millions of lights sparkling over the water and dressing up the old Gothic buildings. There were a few boats out, which was nothing unusual, but one seemed to be anchored in the middle of the river, and that was definitely strange.

At least I thought so until the first firework went up in the air. It exploded in a hail of red sparks, and the people around me murmured and I settled in to watch -- you know, as long as I was there anyway.

"I confess, I didn't take you for a holiday festival type of person," said a voice I would have known anywhere.

I looked out of the corner of my eye to see that Gentleman John Marcone had somehow finagled a spot next to me against the bridge's railing, even though I could have sworn it had been populated by a couple who had been kissing enthusiastically only a moment before. Maybe they found a room.

"Pure coincidence," I said, resolutely looking ahead at the fireworks. "What are you doing here?"

"Maybe I like holiday festivals," he said genially.

I rolled my eyes, and we watched the colors in the night sky for a few more moments before I started to get antsy. "So...how's business?" I said, and then immediately felt lame.

Marcone shrugged gracefully. "The economy is wretched; it takes its toll on everyone, I'm afraid. But thank you for asking."

"You're welcome," I said reluctantly.

"And yourself? I notice that the economic downturn doesn't prevent people from having you investigate the haunted Spire grounds."

"It's not haunted!" I snapped. "And how did you -- never mind. My point is, it's a 75 foot deep hole of mismanagement, but the only thing it's haunted by is _stupidity_."

Marcone's soft chuckle was nearly drowned out by the last barrage of fireworks, and it seemed like the city was silent as everyone watched the sky light up in green and red and pink. When it was over, people clapped -- Marcone included, his leather gloves muffling the sound.

"I'm never going to get back to my bus," I muttered as the crowd began to slowly move.

"My car is parked up off of Wacker," Marcone said.

"How is that even possible? Didn't they clear everything?" I asked, irritated.

He just looked at me.

I could complain, or I could take advantage of the implicit offer to get out of the cold. My duster is enchanted to hell and back, but there's no enchantment or grade of goose down that can compete with the wind off Lake Michigan. "Fine," I said, and followed him across the bridge and up to the stairs from Lower to Upper Wacker.

We went up the stairs slowly, following a mother and her three children. I didn't know what language they were speaking -- it sounded Slavic to my ears, but languages aren't exactly my strong suit. One little girl was trailing a blanket and looked in danger of losing it to the wind, so I picked up the end and followed her up the stairs, like some sort of demented courtier to a little princess. When we got to the top, I flicked it over her shoulder.

Marcone gave me another look, but this one didn't suggest that I was an idiot -- rather, it seemed considering and maybe even strangely gentle. For a moment, I thought of Ivy, and I thought of the Beckitt girl in her hospital bed, and I knew that Marcone was thinking of them too.

On a nearby side street, a familiar black Cadillac was idling, not far from where people were selling hot drinks at tables set up outside a side exit of the Hyatt. "Would you care for something?" Marcone asked, nodding his head in their direction.

Oh, what the hell. If I wanted to have a drink with a Free Lord and mafia boss, the only thing damaged was my pride.

At least until we got in line. "Four dollars?" I squawked, and rummaged around in my pockets. There were a harried set of parents ahead of us with babbling children in tow, and I was distracted by a boy who was in danger of upending a cup of hot chocolate on himself. "Careful," I said, and helped him get the cup down from the table. "Use both hands," I said absently, before unearthing two dollars from my jeans pocket, along with my CTA card and the uncashed check from my most recent client.

"I've got it," Marcone said, and gave the cashier a twenty, along with a pleasant smile as he told her to keep the tip and stay warm.

I frowned at him, but he just handed me my paper cup after dumping a judicious amount of sugar into it. I wasn't entirely certain I wanted to know how Marcone knew how I took my coffee, but my hands were freezing, so I took the cup with a muttered thanks.

"Come wait in the car," Marcone said, and I thought about throwing a hissy fit, but it occurred to me that I could scorn the invitation or I could be warm, but I couldn't do both.

"Just until the crowd clears out a little," I said grudgingly.

Hendricks stepped out of the driver's side to open the door for Marcone, and he gave me a beady stare but it wasn't a suspicious one. Compared to the first time I'd been invited into Marcone's car, a world of things had changed.

We sat, sipping our coffee in silence that wasn't all that uncomfortable.

"You were probably unaware of this, but there was a price on your head last month," Marcone said eventually, in an almost idle tone of voice as he stripped off his gloves.

I nearly spit out my coffee. "Excuse me?"

"I thought as much," Marcone said. "I took care of it, of course."

"You took care of it?" I repeated, disbelieving.

"Chicago is my city, Harry," Marcone said, taking a calm sip of his coffee. "I won't allow outsiders to poach on my authority."

"The authority to order a hit on me," I said slowly, not sure if I was actually understanding him correctly.

He nodded, like that was a _perfectly normal sentiment_.

"Well," I said finally. "Merry Christmas to me, I suppose."

"If you like," Marcone said, and there was that stupidly charming smile again.

We sat quietly for a few more moments while we finished our drinks, and I wrestled with an impulse and then lost, because the economy was crap but I knew that Marcone still donated heavily to the Children's Memorial Hospital, and for whatever fucked up reason, he didn't want other people to kill me. I put my hand on the door handle, and said, "In the spirit of the season, I should warn you to keep a closer eye on Helen. Thanks for the coffee."

His money-green eyes widened only briefly, but he caught my fingers in a strong, lingering grip. "Let me give you a ride home," he said.

"My bus stop is just over on Michigan," I objected.

"You're already in my car," he said reasonably. "Don't be stubborn."

I opened my mouth to protest again, and then shut it. There were still people all over the sidewalks, and it was cold, and Marcone's hand was still warm around mine.

"Oh, fine," I said, because there were some battles that just weren't worth fighting, and I had learned at least that much over the course of our association.

Marcone kept his fingers entangled with mine as Hendricks carefully pulled away from the curb and we went off into the starless Chicago night.

 


End file.
